


A Job To Do

by broadlicnic



Category: Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy (2011)
Genre: A - Freeform, M/M, PWP, ttss_kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-17
Updated: 2011-11-17
Packaged: 2017-10-26 05:16:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/279113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/broadlicnic/pseuds/broadlicnic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompted at ttss_kink: "Guillam fucking Tarr in the Circus lift, and making him come before they reach the top floor."</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Job To Do

In situations such as these, the element of surprise is always the best option.

The lift doors have barely slammed shut before Peter springs into action, and his hand reaches around the waist in front of him to palm against the crotch of rough denim. Tarr had been facing away from him, had never even acknowledged Peter’s presence, but his hips jolt forwards, pressing up against Peter’s palm and his head falls back, eyes closed, against Peter’s shoulder.

It would appear that Tarr is happy to be groped by practical strangers in public places, and Peter files that information away for a time when it will be useful, but today is not that time. They’re already at the first floor, and there is no time for guesswork. Turning his head, he mouths at Tarr’s cheekbone, encouraging him to open his eyes. Tarr says nothing, just glances at Peter with a look of recognition in his eyes, as if to say “this was inevitable”. But it’s a fleeting moment, because now Tarr is hard beneath his palm and Peter can feel the strain of his own erection. He begins.

Before they’ve reached the third floor, Tarr is up against the walls of the lift, trousers around his ankles and cock pressed between his stomach and the cool metal. He rotates his hips as Peter prepares, grasping for friction, and Peter becomes distracted for a moment until he recognises they’re now progressing to the fourth floor. Peter doesn’t have time to prepare Tarr properly, so he spits in his palm and coats his own cock in it, before lining up against Tarr’s entrance. Tarr likes it rough anyway.

Tarr’s hand reaches behind him and guides Peter in, and Peter bites down into Tarr’s shoulder as he relishes the sensation of heat spreading through him. They’re at floor five now, and time is running out, and so Peter wastes no time in establishing a rhythm. There’s a pounding in his ears, and Peter thrusts to match. Somewhere around floor seven, Tarr tries to say something, but the silence within these dirty white walls is intense; it makes Peter feel powerful. He takes his right hand and covers Tarr’s mouth with it, and Tarr’s words are lost. Instead, Tarr angles his head so that he can take Peter’s fingers into his mouth, sucking hard on them before swirling a tongue over the middle digit. Peter’s left hand reaches into that small gap between Tarr and the wall, and he takes Tarr’s cock into his fist, pumping in time with his thrusts.

At floor nine, Peter realises how little time his left, and pushes in deeper. Deep, rasping breaths and the slap of skin on skin echoes around the otherwise-empty lift, and the lift jolts a little, as if it wants to join in. Tarr clearly has the same thought, as he chuckles between Peter’s fingers.

At floor ten, Peter’s feeling close, but it’s not enough. It’s Tarr who he wants to see fall apart just seconds before those doors open, and so he holds himself back, focusing all of his energies on hitting Tarr’s prostate, on the now-purple bite mark, on the movements of his hand.

At floor twelve, Tarr breaks the silence. He pulls his head back, and Peter’s right arm hooks around his collar. If he pulls his grip just a little tighter, Tarr will be choking, and Peter lets out a low moan at that mental image.

“Guillam,” Tarr gasps between grunts and pants, “I’m close.”

“Me too,” Peter forces out.

“Let me look at you,” Tarr says, and turns his head so far Peter worries his neck may break. Peter closes the rest of the distance between them, and meets him in a messy, sloppy kiss. Their eyes remain open, staring into each other’s, as Tarr sucks on Peter’s tongue, and then finally, at floor fifteen, Peter feels Tarr spilling over his hand, his knees buckling and his hips spasming with Peter still inside him. Peter lets himself go then, filling Tarr and biting down on his lip to stifle a cry.

When he’s finished, Peter’s feeling a little mischievous. He pushes Tarr away, so he falls bonelessly into the corner of the lift, and locks eyes with him as he licks his own hand clean. Tarr’s eyes are dark and wild, his lips swollen, and he’s completely dazed. But Peter knows there’s only one floor to go and so he fastens up his fly, straightens his tie and runs his cleanest hand through his hair. If Tarr wants to be discovered slumped half-naked in the lift by Bill Haydon, then that’s his problem. Peter has a job to do.


End file.
